A Samurai's Lullaby
by Angrybee
Summary: While in the hospital, Okita Souji reflects on his life with humor, honesty, and sincerity. Historical fiction account of the short but amazing life of the First Captain. (Rating for later chapters.)
1. Prelude

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Peacemaker Kurogane, and intend this work only as a piece of fanfiction. In addition, I only mean the utmost respect to the men of the Shinsengumi, and hope they will forgive me for my fictional account of their story.

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A Samurai's Lullaby: Prelude

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There are some things a man can just not get enough of in his lifetime. I suppose it depends, from man to man, what those things might be. It might be a woman, or a dozen of them. You might not get enough sake. Maybe you wanted a few more lazy afternoons on the engawa, listening to the cicadas. You could want for more respect or perhaps to have traveled more. Some things, you just can't get enough of them.

And I...

I, too, have something. I just can't get enough. But, that is my secret. That is a secret for me to keep. Even this paper shall not know. Because a secret whispered loses strength. A secret written loses faith.

It's too dark to the see now, but I will continue to write. Why does a man need to see what he is writing, when it matters not to have it read? If I can just make it through tonight...

Sleeping is too painful. Well, I suppose that is incorrect to say. It would be blissful to sleep, but my nights are filled with sweat and fever. I don't like laying down, because the sickness in my chest shifts, and I must take quick, shallow breaths to fight the pain. Besides, once I'm down, it takes too long to sit up again. A samurai must be ready to spring into action at the slightest inkling of danger. I feel wrong if... Yes, I just feel wrong.

I've crumpled my futon, and put it between the wall and myself, so that I might lean against it as I write. There is some small amount of moonlight leaking into the open shoji, and it illuminates my left foot, causing it to seem disconnected from the rest of me. A pale, bony foot, severed from the body hidden in the shadows. How many ownerless limbs have I seen in my twenty-five years? Yes. I know what a dead arm or a leg might look like.

I've been trying to keep myself moving. In the daytime, I walk the grounds of this place. I should not like to become one of those invalids whose feet begin to rot. Besides the fact that a man simply does not smell good when he is rotting, I intend to greet my next visitors on two feet, and not laying about with blankets covering me. When Hijikata-san and Kondou-san come to tell me the Shinsengumi was victorious, I shall be standing. Yes. I shall definitely be standing.

Perhaps I will greet them in the garden. It is spring now, and even though the last cherry blossoms have already fallen, we have some lovely camellia bushes. Red ones and white ones, both. Red ones mean 'unpretending excellence'. And I do think that is quite appropriate for such an announcement, don't you? It is very close to the heart of the concept of 'makoto'. I think Kondou-san will get it, even if Hijikata-san does not. It will be a lovely scene. Perhaps Toshi will even read some of his poetry. I hope the camellias aren't offended.

It's too dark to see the paper, but it doesn't matter. It never mattered to have our story told. Maybe some people think we did it for glory, to be remembered by history. Brash and brave men often do things so that they might have their names hailed by others. But, we did not. I write now because the past is my constant companion. But, if you think I regret my life, you are wrong.

Regret would only besmirch the names of our leaders, of my men, and the many spirited warriors I fought and killed.

I smile in the darkness, and wiggle my bony toes.

Not dead yet.

I can make it through tonight.

I can make it through to tomorrow, and perhaps I will greet my visitors in the garden. I am sure they will come tomorrow.

I can make it.

I can, and I will.

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In Our Next Chapter: Souji as a young boy in Edo.

Author's Note: I intend this story as a PMK fanfiction, and will portray characters as they are in PMK to the best of my ability. However, I will also be adding some elements from other series and movies, such as 'Shinsengumi NHK' and 'Shinsengumi Keppuroku', along with other manga, anime, and movies. However, hopefully they should sew together fairly seamlessly, and not prove distracting to PMK fans. I'd also like to add some historical elements, but would like to reiterate that this is a work of -fiction-, so I reserve the right to fudge history in favor of story. I hope I do not offend in doing so.


	2. A Snowy Day In Edo

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Chapter One: A Snowy Day In Edo

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"Mitsu, put a scarf on your brother. He's going to catch his death running around like that."

Then Mitsu's face comes very close to mine. "Soujirou-chan. Let's make you snuggly." Her eyes are bright, and there are little bitty crinkles at the edge of her left eyebrow when she laughs. Mama laughs also, though much more quietly. Mama's laugh has become more and more quiet. I don't know why. Maybe it has to do with the fact that she's always so tired, so she sleeps a lot. Papa says that Mama is sick, but just a little sick. Not sick like our cow Kyoko when she wouldn't give milk anymore and got all skinny and the bones were poking through. Mama is round, and her bones don't poke through at all. Mama says it's because she has something special inside her, a special new brother or sister for me. I like to touch Mama's tummy and feel my new brother kick. I think it's going to be a brother, but Mitsu says it will be a sister.

Mitsu is wrong because I talked to Mama's tummy and told it to be a brother.

"Mother, do you have enough blankets? Should I bring more?"

Mitsu is always fussing over Mama. Mama already has like a dozen blankets! And she's close to the fire. She's gonna melt if Mitsu puts more blankets on her.

"No, honey. No more blankets. Sou-chan, come here and hug your mother goodbye."

I do go over to hug Mama. She smells good. She smells a little like soured milk, a little like sweet white rice, and a little like fresh blankets. It's a sleepy smell, and I yawn into her chest. I would stay home and nap with Mama, but Mitsu promised we would stop at the sweet shop on the way home. And sweets always win over naps.

I feel Mama's hands in my hair, feeling my head like she's looking for bumps. We end up with my forehead pressed to hers. "You be a good boy for your sister, Soujirou," she says.

I smile and say that I will. And Mama smiles too. She has a little gap between two of her teeth on one side. Just a small one. But when she smiles, her face looks crooked. A happy sort of crooked, like when the half moon is tilted in the sky like a piece of watermelon thrown up into the air. Mama told me once how she got the gap. It was from a boy who hit her before she married Papa. He was an important samurai, and she was going to marry him, but she chose Papa instead. And I think that's good because Papa doesn't hit her. Hitting is bad. Sometimes I hit Mitsu, though. But, I get in trouble for it because you're not supposed to hit girls. I hope that samurai got in trouble for hitting Mama, but I don't know if he did.

Mitsu and I leave after that. I'm not sleepy at all, not at all. And the cold bites at my nose, so I pull my scarf up over it. I hold Mitsu's hand, except I am wearing mittens, so I can't really feel her fingers. In her other hand she has a basket. Right now it has candles in it, but later it will have some tea and rice.

I look up at Mitsu as we walk. I like the pattern on her obi. It has little bluebirds on it, and sometimes I can see it a little when the wind tugs at her coat in the right way. Mitsu has a scarf tied around her head, but a good one, because we're running important errands.

Ikimara-san says that Mitsu isn't a very pretty girl, just like Mama was never a very pretty girl. I think that's kinda mean. I don't know what is wrong with the way Mitsu looks. Maybe it's because one of her eyes always looks like it squinting a little bit. And that same squinty eye has a little bit of a scar running from the outside corner up to her eyebrow. She got it when she was my age, and she fell out of the loft where we sleep. Actually, Mama said Mitsu didn't so much fall as jump. She still jumps, and Mama says that it isn't very ladylike, but she lets Mitsu do it anyway. Mitsu says she'll teach me how to jump out of the loft, too, when I get as tall as she is.

Anyway, I don't mind Mitsu's scar, or her squinty eye. It just makes more funny crinkles by her eyebrow when she laughs. And the rest of Mitsu's face seems fine to me. She has all her teeth and her nose is on straight. Sometimes she gets some pimples on her forehead, but Mama says that's about natural for a girl her age.

The town is mostly sleepy-like today. Sometimes, there are snowflakes as we walk. They seem lazy, too. It's as if the clouds can't really decide if they want to snow today. Everyone who passes us on the street has been wrapped up tight in warm clothes. Sometimes they are wrapped up so tight, you can't even tell if they are young or old. Everyone is in a hurry to get where they are going before it starts snowing in earnest, I guess, so no one stops to say hello.

The sky above is grey and peppered with blackbirds that squawk loudly when they land on rooftops and stare at us. I squeeze Mitsu's hand and point at the birds, and she laughs. "Oh Sou-chan," she says, "You do like birds, don't you?"

And I do like birds. I like all sorts of animals. I like our cow at home, and the snakes in the garden. I like frogs and dogs and chickens, and I very much like birds. Animals are wonderful. Mama says that they are all our little friends, and that we should always help things which are smaller than us. I don't really understand that, since the cow is much bigger than me, and even bigger than Mama.

We reach Ikimara-san's house before it begins to snow hard. Ikimara-san's house is much bigger than our house. She has seven rooms, and that's very lucky. Ikimara-san tells everyone that she's very lucky. Lucky to have married such an important samurai. Lucky to have such an obedient daughter. Lucky to be so beautiful. Ikimara-san is very lucky.

She's also very mean.

We're met at the gate by Ikimara-san's kitchen maid Naora, who is much nicer than Ikimara-san.

"Ohhh, is that you Mitsu-san?" Naora pinches Mitsu's cheek, but just softly. "You do grow so quickly. Not much longer, and you will be taller than I."

"I'm going to be even taller than Mitsu!" I say. Naora pats my head and smiles for a second. Then she frowns as she tells Mitsu that Ikimara-san is in a -mood- today. I don't know what that means. Ikimara-san is -always- in a -mood-.

When Naora scuttles off to tell Ikimara-san that we are here, Mitsu bends down a little to tell me to remember my manners, no matter what Ikimara-san says. We wait on the engawa. I'm colder now, because we aren't walking anymore. When you stop moving, all the cold sinks into you. I try to shake a little to get warm, like a dog might do, and Mitsu tells me to be still.

"Oh?" I can hear Ikimara-san's screechy voice all the way out on the engawa. "Those bratty children of my ugly cousin are here again?" There's some quiet talking that I can't understand, and then Ikimara-san says, "Yes, do come see them, Akano-san. You'll see exactly what I am talking about."

I hear footsteps. Light ones, which must be Ikimara-san, and heavy ones. The heavy ones belong to Akano-san, who is Ikimara-san's best friend. Mitsu and I bow properly when Ikimara-san throws open the nearest shoji.

Now, Ikimara-san can best be described as a pinched stick. Tall, very tall for a woman. But, her face makes me think that someone pinched her too much. Her lips are pinched. Her nose is pinched. Even her eyebrows look like someone pinched them and they stuck that way. Mama says that Ikimara-san was the most beautiful girl around when she was young, but now she just looks like she wants to stop being pinched.

Akano-san, however, reminds me of a fried dumpling wrapped in silk. She's very large in the middle. I wonder if her obi has to be made special because it has to be so big. She must be very rich, because she wears an obi with such tiny embroidery that the pattern shimmers. I've never seen Mama or Mitsu make embroidery like that. And I can't really help it, but I reach out to touch it.

Ikimara-san slaps my hands away. "Don't you touch her with your dirty little mittens. That's expensive!" It doesn't hurt, really. And I'm a big boy, so I don't cry. I don't want to get Mitsu in trouble.

"I'm sorry, Akano-san," Ikimara-san says as she nudges me backwards with the tip of her folded fan. "But, they have no manners at all. No appreciation for finer things. Do you see how my cousin keeps them? Why, they are practically in dirty rags."

Mitsu squeezes my hand tight, and then says defiantly, "We are not! We washed all of our things just yesterday, and had a bath this morning!"

We did, too! Mitsu first, and then me. I helped her make the fire for the bath.

Ikimara-san's pinched lips pucker up even more, and her face becomes even more red. "Why you insolent little brat! I consent to help out your family, and you talk back to me?"

"Yes. You really shouldn't talk back to your elders, child," Akano-san says a bit nervously. She sounds like a hungry pigeon.

Ikimara-san puts her hands on her hips. "Now, you apologize, Mitsu. You apologize this instant, or I will send you home to your mother with nothing, and you can explain to -her- about your behavior."

But, Mitsu just stands there. I don't know why she won't apologize, but I am kinda glad. Because you shouldn't apologize when you're not wrong. Papa told me that. Then she shakes her head to indicate that she won't apologize at all.

A sound comes from Ikimara-san like a dog makes when someone steps on its tail. I see her grab a broom that was leaning against the wall. And then she starts hitting Mitsu with it. She hits Mitsu on the head, once, and then twice, and then Mitsu puts her hands over her face and tries to cower behind one of the engawa posts. But, Ikimara-san still gets at her, whacking away with that broom.

I can't help it. I know I am supposed to mind my manners, but I don't want Mitsu to get hit when she wasn't wrong. And, I think Ikimara-san is just being mean. Mean and showing off for Akano-san. My hands ball up into fists. I know I'm not supposed to hit girls, but Ikimara-san hit Mitsu first! So, I run at Ikimara-san, head first, and try to knock her down. But, I don't even make her stumble backwards. And she doesn't stop swatting at Mitsu with the broom, so I hit her as hard as I can. But, my little fists just go thump thump thump against her leg.

The next thing I know, I'm flying through the air. I didn't know women could kick so hard while wearing a kimono.

And I think for a moment about birds, and how they fly. I wonder if I might suddenly grow wings, now that I am in the air. If I did become a bird right now, I'd swoop down and peck at Ikimara-san until she ran away. Maybe she's not pinched at all. Maybe Ikimara-san has just been pecked by so many birds that she looks pinched.

I think it might hurt when I land, like when Mitsu hurt herself jumping out of the loft. But, it doesn't hurt at all. Where I land gives a little, and then wraps around me.

Everything becomes still, and where I am somehow seems like the center of the stillness. When I finally manage to open one of my eyes, a broad face with a trimmed beard seems to be floating over mine. Uncle Kaneyoshi has the same little creases around his eyes as Mitsu, but his never go away. So, he always looks like he is smiling, even when he is mad.

"Koto! You stop hitting my niece this instant!"

I think he might be mad. His voice reminds me of when you run and skid on gravel. I did that once, and scraped my knee. Mama patched it up for me, though.

I crane my head to look, but hold onto Uncle Kaneyoshi tight at the same time. Ikimara-san has the broom raised high over her head, but she doesn't bring it down to hit Mitsu again. She looks like she needs to have a good spit, and her face is a bit wobbly from being so angry. After a moment or two, Mitsu jumps off the engawa and runs over to Uncle Kaneyoshi. She hugs onto his side.

"I did not know you were coming, cousin." Ikimara's voice turns nice in a fake way, like those really pretty wagashi in the window of the sweet shop that aren't real. Those are just for show. They're made out of paste. I know because Mitsu told me.

"It's truly a pity that you had to see me disciplining your sister's wretched children," Ikimara-san says.

"Yes. A pity," Uncle replies dryly. He pats Mitsu's head a bit. "Though it is a good thing I came along when I did. I might have to become cross with you if Soujirou-chan had become injured."

Ikimara-san makes a waving motion with her hand. "Little boys are remarkably sturdy. He was never in any true danger."

"Hm." That's all Uncle says as he puts me down on the ground. I go over to cling to Mitsu. I'm a little scared, but only a little. Mostly, I was scared that Mitsu might get hurt.

"Would you like tea, Okita-san?" Akano-san asks as she quietly takes the broom from Ikimara-san and shoves it into the nearest open shoji.

"Perhaps later. Right now, I am going to take these children into the kitchen and get them warm. I will meet with you ladies later. Come along, Naora."

Ikimara-san's mouth forms a little round circle as her eyes pinch shut. Akano-san bows deeply, and then tugs on Ikimara-san's sleeve to make her bow, too.

Uncle Kaneyoshi picks me up again for the walk to the kitchen. I like my uncle very much, which is good, since I'm part named after him. Okita Harumasa Soujirou Kaneyoshi. It's a pretty big name, but I know how to write the whole thing.

I cling to his neck, which reminds me of a tree trunk. Thick and strong. Uncle smells a little like miso, and a little like new tatami, and a little like a dojo. It's a nice smell.

Uncle is a very important samurai, more important even than Ikimara-san's husband. He's part of a big police force here in Edo. He knows lots of kenjutsu, and he is stronger even than father. But, that's alright, Uncle says, because father is smarter.

"Would you like to let go of my neck now, Soujirou-chan?"

Mitsu giggles a little and reaches up to help pull me off of Uncle. They put me down in the kitchen, and Naora goes to stoke the fire. It's warm in here, and I take off my mittens and put them in my yukata so I don't lose them. Uncle looks at Mitsu's face to make sure she wasn't cut by the broom bristles.

When Uncle sits down, the floor shakes a little. "Hm. Let's have some food. You can spare us some lunch, can't you Naora?"

"Okita-san is always hungry," Naora replies.

"Well, I'm still growing," Uncle says with a guffaw. "I intend on becoming as big as a house. When I die, they'll roll me next to Mount Fuji, just to find out which of us was bigger."

I plop down next to Uncle Kaneyoshi and say, "I'm going to be big, too. And strong. Strong like Uncle. Then when Ikimara-san hits Mitsu, I will make her stop!"

"I bet you will. I bet you will." Uncle pats my head. "But, Soujirou-chan, you should not hit ladies. So, perhaps you should just become -smarter- than Ikimara-san, hm?"

"Don't worry about me, Sou-chan," Mitsu says as she goes over to help Naora with the cooking, "That broom didn't hurt at all. I'd spit in that old bat's eye if Mother hadn't told me to be nice to her."

"Mmmm. Maybe you shouldn't spit at her, Mitsu-chan."

"Why's that, Uncle?"

"Ikimara-san isn't really a bad person. It's just that seeing the two of you reminds her how unhappy she is."

"She's always unhappy," Mitsu says, "She's just a sour person all around. I've never known her to say a kind word in all my life."

"Now, now... Oh, tea. Wonderful. Have some tea here, Soujirou-chan. It will warm you right up. Yes, hold it with both hands, please. Ikimara-san is just upset with herself, see? Why, when she sees you, she thinks of how happy your mother and father are together, and it puts her in a miserable state. She remembers that she wasn't her husband's first choice for a wife. No, indeed. Her husband asked your mother first. But, Koto was so very taken with him, she begged your mother to refuse. And you mother did refuse him. He married Koto, and she's been miserable with him ever since."

That's when I realized that Ikimara-san's husband was the one who hit mother and made her teeth crooked. And I thought to myself for the first time that adults live terribly complicated lives. I had thought that it might be quite wonderful to become a grown up. But, I saw then that there was no bliss or happiness to it. None at all. All the adults I knew, all of them struggled. Uncle Kaneyoshi struggled to keep our family from destroying itself. Mama struggled to keep us presentable and respectable. Papa had to work very, very hard for the Abe clan, to struggle to keep us fed. And Ikimara-san struggled with getting older, and her mean husband.

For, surely, if he had hit Mama, he hit Ikimara-san, too.

It seemed quite a grim future for all children. It seemed cruel, almost, that this is the sort of thing one might look forward to in one's life. Cruel that any child should know this at the age of four. I wondered how long I had left to play, and be happy, before such a terrible fate would befall me.

The world became dark then. Sadness overtook me. Was I remorseful that I had tried to hit Ikimara-san? Or sad that I had thought her mean without knowing the truth? People seemed to have secrets, on the inside, sorrow that they hid, and often did not know how to control. Ikimara-san's husband hit her, so she lashed out and hit Mitsu, and in retaliation, I hit Ikimara-san. Surely, there was some better way to cope with these struggles, this indefinable well of sorrow that all humans held. Surely, I would have to find an answer to it.

I press my face into Uncle's sleeve and sob hard. I do not know quite why, and I am ashamed for crying in front of Uncle, but I can not stop. I feel as if something has been ripped from me, something precious, something I loved. It is a horrible feeling, this despair.

"Oh, Soujirou-chan, come, come, come... Let's not cry now."

Mitsu and Naora stop cooking and just look at Uncle, and then at me. I try to explain what has made me sad, but I don't have the right words, so I just press my face into Uncle's arm and hope that my tears will soon stop. His strong hand rubs my back. The repetitive motion calms me, and soon I am laying curled against Uncle, feeling quite emptied of everything. I close my eyes, drowsiness hitting me like a sack of rice.

"Dear me, what do you think that was about?" Naora asks quietly.

"Delayed reaction to the trouble with Ikimara-san, I suppose." Uncle puts his fingers in my hair, and I feel very safe. "Now then, Mitsu-chan, why don't you tell your uncle why you came to see Ikimara-san in the first place?"

"Mother wanted me to give this basket of candles to Ikimara-san for some tea and rice. We've gotten a bit low."

"Well, I think we can arrange that, can't we, Naora?"

"Of course, Okita-san. It's no trouble at all."

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I'm being carried, pressed against Uncle's chest, protected from the snow. Half-asleep, half-awake, I listen to Mitsu tell Uncle about how Papa devised a clever new method for making candles, which allows them to burn twice as long.

Uncle is impressed, though many people would not be. Candles, you see, are only supposed to burn so long. If they burn longer, people who watch the length of the candle to determine the time might get confused. And that could cause all sorts of trouble. Papa is very clever, you see, but not everyone appreciates a clever person. Papa tried to sell some candles to a local merchant, who would not take them because they burned longer. So, you know what Papa said?

"Cut them in half, and sell twice as many."

I don't think the merchant took them, though. We still have so many left at home.

Sometimes, we have to make candles in the winter to "make ends meet", as Mama says. It's a funny saying, though. Because if you make the ends of a candle meet, then how will you burn it?

Long before Papa married Mama, he made candles. His family were farmers by trade, but Papa had been loaned out to a merchant shop as a servant when he was young, so he was taught all about candlemaking. But, then later, Uncle Kaneyoshi had a distant relative adopt Papa into the Harumasa family so that he could marry Mama.

It's all very complicated. Just like my name.

I don't know why Uncle isn't married. Probably because he's such an important samurai and so busy all the time.

I feel some snowflakes on my cheek, and I try to snuggle closer to Uncle. I'm looking forward to dinner, which will be warm and made just the way Mitsu does it. And I'm not even too upset that we didn't go to the sweet shop after all.

I open my eyes just a little as our house comes into view. The little gate is crusted with ice. And the branches of the plum trees are just beginning to sag from the growing weight of the snow. Mama says this is the coldest winter she's ever seen for Edo. I think it is lovely.

Mitsu opens the door for Uncle, and tells him that Mama is probably still sleeping, so he can just lay me next to her while she re-stokes the fire.

"My goodness," Mitsu says, "It's turned icy in here. I hope Mother had enough blankets."

Uncle lays me on top the blankets next to Mama, and pats my head for a few seconds before going over to help Mitsu with the fire. The loss of warmth of being close to Uncle jars me awake a little bit more. I know I need to get under the covers with Mama, but it's so hard to find the bottom cover. There must be a half-dozen blankets here, and I have to squirm around in the darkness to find the bottom one.

When I do get in, I have to wriggle around a bit to get comfortable. Something cold and moist nips at my arms and legs, which must be the snow from my clothing melting off into the blankets. It's just a little water, and Mama says a little water is no harm and dries right up, so I don't worry about it.

I try to scoot close to Mama, but not kick her in the belly. I don't want to hurt the baby! But, when I do get close, I find that Mama's skin is strange. Her arms are cold, colder than the blankets. "Mama?" I ask, "Mama, Sou-chan will warm you up!" I try to put my arms around her, because even in her sleep, she will wrap her arms back around me and hold me close. But, this time, she doesn't.

"Mama?" I put my cheek against hers. So cold. Cold as snow on my cheek outside. "Mama, wake up!" I'm scared now, and I'm not sure why. My feet feel slimy, like I'm standing in a barrel of slippery fish. It's scaring me. "Mama! Wake up now!" I try to grab her arm and shake it, but it is heavy, and I can barely lift it. "Mama!" I take my finger and try to pry her eye open so she can see me. I don't like this. Is this a game? I don't like this game, Mama! Her eyelid slides up when I push on it, and even in this dim light, I can see her eye. There's no pupil, just a round circle of honey brown covered by a thin white film. It's like someone poured a few drops of milk into Mama's eye. I've seen our cow like this before, when she was sick once. I think maybe Mama is very, very sick.

The light in the room raises a few levels as Uncle brings the lantern over when he hears me calling to Mama.

"Oh god."

Uncle drops the lantern, and for a moment, I can see Mama's face so clearly. Her once-glowing skin has turned sallow, and tiny branches of blue veins can be seen in the hollows beneath her eyes. The color has drained from her lips, leaving them looking thin and drawn. These lips, Mama's lips, upturned so faintly at the corners, hold a smile both distant and melancholy.

So distant and melancholy...

Uncle's strong hands loop under my arms and are dragging me away. The dark splotches on my legs and yukata mystify me. Uncle makes a quiet noise of desperation, and says again, "Oh god. Oh sister, no." He pulls back the covers, and I see the reddish-black slick which has stained Mama's yukata from just below her swollen belly down her legs to below her knees.

Blood. I did not know it then. But, blood comes in so many colors. In the darkness, pools of blood can seem black as oil. Old blood can turn a coppery rust color. If you cut a man at his neck or near his heart, the spray seems almost purple. On a full moon, the reflection of the sky upon a man's blood will give it a bluish tinge. And the blood from the cough of one stricken with consumption is such a brilliant red that no flower's petal, no geisha's kimono fabric, can compete. So much blood would I see in my lifetime, I would come to know its many hues well.

I found myself gathered against Mitsu, who was alternately screaming and sobbing so hard I thought the both of us might break. I tried to look, but Mitsu kept turning my head away. Still, through her fingers, I saw Uncle holding Mama against him, and rocking her. His shoulders were quaking, and I remember him making no noise after that. I remember the palm of Mama's hand, the curl of her lifeless fingers, how limp her arm seemed...

Memory can hold so many tiny details, and lose such enormous ones. Like how long we sat there together. Or what happened next. I do remember wondering if this was a punishment for me, a punishment for hitting Ikimara-san. Had things come full circle? Why did Mama have to die? Why did my brother, the one in her belly, have to die?

I watched later as everyone heaped the guilt upon themselves. Mitsu for not noticing anything before we left. Papa for being gone so much, for leaving the care of Mama to Mitsu and I. Uncle blamed himself. Even Ikimara-san, when she came, blubbered loudly how sorry she was for having treated Mama with such scorn for so many years.

So many people claimed the blame, that I realized no one was at fault. Sorrow was, as I had so recently discovered, merely the human condition. Inescapable. Permanent until the moment we all die. The only recourse is to become stronger than sorrow, to defy pain with grace and a smile.

And a small, lingering smile. Distant because she took it with her. Melancholy because she was unsure if I would notice.

But, I did.

A smile, in death, defeats a lifetime of sorrows.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

My fever has risen with the moon. I would try to fight off delirium with water, but it is too far to fetch. Too far for now. So, I settle for the breeze wafting into the open shoji. I savor each cool rush of air, trying to capture it upon my face.

Another sheet of paper falls from my fingertips. There is no use in keeping them organized. Really, it's pointless in this low light. Besides, I was never at all good with organization of any sort. Yamanami-san always said that I had no head for figures unless I was calculating the number of enemies facing my sword. I tried to keep a journal once, thinking that it might amuse me some day to read about my younger self. But, after the first day, I completely forgot about the thing. Tragic, too, since I had been so excited about the prospect, Kondou-san had bought me a very fine journal. It was just like the one he gave Hijikata-san to write his horrid poetry.

I do like writing letters. Oh, how I adore writing letters. Though, who could like writing letters more than receiving letters? No, I think we all write letters in the hopes that we may receive more letters in turn. How many have I written over the course of the years? I don't know. Writing a letter is a joy, a gift of yourself to another, someone distant, someone you care about enough to let them know the most inconsequential things about your life.

The past few months, I have had much time to write letters. In the winter, when the sharp winds prevented me from walking outside, I could do little more than write letter after letter. What bad handwriting I have. Truly, it is a shame. They say that precision with a sword kills a man's script. Every stroke of the brush comes across with a little too much force, causing the paper to become full of exacting slashes rather than graceful writing.

Strangely enough, the prettiest handwriting I've ever seen came from one Harada Sanosuke. I suppose masters of the spear do not suffer the same fate with calligraphy as swordsmen. Though, I'm not sure if Harada-san ever wrote a letter in his life, except perhaps to chronicle one of his amusing exploits for Nagakura or Heisuke.

I wrote so many letters over the winter. Dozens and dozens. Drafts and copies. But, I sent not a one. To whom would I send a letter? What could I tell them besides lies? Those who do not know of my location should not be told. I can not chance them coming here and demanding to take me away to care for me themselves. This would put their health at risk. And those who -do- know of my location, they are all off fighting...

As I should be, as I should be...

But, distracting them with a letter would be most inappropriate.

Still, if anything, I wish I could have a letter, perhaps. A letter from someone. A letter from Mitsu letting me know how her family fares. A letter from Nobu-san, Hijikata-san's sister, telling me that the Shieikan dojo is doing well. A letter from Yagi-san, perhaps just touching upon a fine spring day in Kyoto.

A letter from the battlefield... Even if it were just Harada-san's account of some night's drunken exploit...

Yes, all of these would do more good to me than any medicine. But, I know I should not wish for things that can not be.

Well, it shall not matter at all. I know they will come soon. My friends will come soon to tell me the great news.

And then I shall feel quite silly for having written all those letters I never sent.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In Our Next Chapter: As the Okita family struggles with the loss of Souji's mother, another tragedy hits. Souji and Mitsu try to cope as their situation changes rapidly over the next few years.

Author's Note: A thank you to reviewers: riya-chan, Yaoi-Gurls, peacemaker911, Akina Tsukana, akuma-river, MissBehavin, Sybel Sayrah, and Yochan. I am glad you enjoyed the story so far, and I thank you for your notes.


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